Far From Home
by SohoCameos
Summary: Just a bit of CJ/Molly fluff, set in S1. Rated T for language. One-shot.


Captain James stepped out of the med tent with a sigh of irritation. Where the hell was Dawes?

He headed over to where some of 2 Section were demolishing a packet of biscuits that had come in the mail from Mansfield Mike's mum that morning.

"Seen the medic?" he asked. Fingers mumbled something through a mouthful of crumbs and pointed towards the exercise area.

"Over there, sir," he said, swallowing. "Been going hell for leather on that punchbag for the last ten minutes."

James turned to look, his gaze zeroing in on her petite frame almost immediately. Funny how he could spot her so quickly even in a crowd, but then she did rather stand out. He nodded to the lads and started towards her.

Fingers wasn't wrong; she was giving the punchbag an absolute hiding. It was clear she didn't really know what she was doing - there was no technique there - but you couldn't question her enthusiasm.

"Dawes," he said when he was a few feet away. She didn't hear him and carried on pounding the bag. He stepped closer.

"Dawes! Dawes! PRIVATE DAWES!"

Startled out of her thoughts, she spun around.

"WHAT? Sir?" she corrected herself.

He looked from her to the punchbag.

"What did the punchbag ever do to you, Dawes?"

"Nothing, sir."

He paused a little too long, taking in her flushed cheeks, the strands of dark hair working loose from her braid, before remembering why he was looking for her in the first place.

"This report - you didn't sign it," he said, holding up a piece of paper to her.

"Oh, sorry sir. I'll see to it as soon as I'm done here." She moved to take the paper from him. He held it out of her reach.

"You'll 'see to it' now, Private Dawes," he said, his tone making it clear he wasn't about to wait around.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." She stepped away from the bag to head back to the med tent.

He took a pen from his pocket and held it out to her, along with the report. She smiled softly and took them both, dropping to one knee to rest the paper on her thigh to sign it.

"Don't let it happen again," he said as she handed them back.

"Yes, sir," she replied. Then, as he turned away, he heard her mutter,

"Dickhead."

He spun on his heel immediately.

"I beg your pardon, Private?"

"Not you, Sir," she replied without looking up. Her attention had returned to the punchbag, her fists thumping against it in time with her words.

"Cockwombling fuckmuppet! Lying son of a bitch! Cheating bastard! STUPID! SILLY! COW!"

Without warning, she stopped punching and stepped back, aiming a furious high kick at the bag. It split, spilling sand over the ground.

"Bollocks!" She glared at the punchbag and leant forward to catch her breath, hands on her knees. As he averted his eyes from the sight of her cleavage, visible over her vest top, he noticed her skinned and bleeding knuckles.

"Dawes, med tent," he ordered, jerking his head for her to follow him. "Now, Dawes!" he added when she hesitated. She sighed and trailed after him obediently.

"Sit," he instructed as they entered the med tent. He rummaged through a couple of drawers before glancing up at her.

"Antiseptic?"

"That one," she said, pointing. "What d'you want that for?"

"Your hands, Dawes."

She looked down at her hands, surprise flickering across her face.

"Oh. I didn't notice."

Gently he took her left hand in his and began to clean the grazes. She submitted to his ministrations in silence, keeping her gaze on her lap.

"You want to talk about it?" he kept his tone casual, his eyes focused on her hands.

"Nothing to talk about," she replied softly. He let the silence stretch out between them. After a moment she sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"It's just… Boss, d'you ever feel like some people are just so bloody stupid they ought to be locked up for their own good?" Some of the anger he'd seen a few minutes ago had crept back into her voice.

James looked through the open tent flap to where the lads, having apparently finished their biscuits, were smearing Marmite onto Fingers' bald head and taking turns to lick it off. He looked back at Molly and raised one eyebrow.

"Since taking charge of this lot? Frequently."

She smiled at that.

"I got a letter this morning. From my best mate back home. She broke up with her boyfriend last year 'cause he was cheating on her, absolute fucknugget he is. Now she tells me they're back together and she's bloody pregnant, but no worries, it's all fine and wonderful 'cause they're gonna get married." She let out a growl of frustration. "How bloody stupid can you get?"

She looked him in the eye then, apparently wanting an answer. He blew out a breath, wondering what exactly he was supposed to say.

"That, um… Yeah, that's not really…" he shrugged. Apparently that was enough of a response for her.

"Y'know they tell you in training that deployment's gonna be hard, being away from your loved ones an' all, but… I guess I was so focused on what could go wrong out here, it never occurred to me everything might go to shit at home and there'd be nothing I could do about it."

The anger was gone from her voice, replaced by a resigned sadness. He squeezed her fingers gently.

"You care a lot about her, don't you?"

She nodded.

"I just wish I was there to talk some bloody sense into her. By the time I get home, it might be too late."

He looked down at their hands, running his thumb gently over her wrist. Her hands looked so small and pale compared with his.

"Sometimes, Dawes, we have to let people make their own mistakes," he said finally. "And if it all goes to shit -" She scoffed at that. "_When_ it all goes to shit," he corrected himself, "you'll be there to pick up the pieces."

"You reckon?" she asked, looking him in the eye now.

"Yeah, I do." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're too much of a soft fool to leave a friend in their own mess."

"I wouldn't bet on it," she said wryly, nodding towards the entrance.

"Mol, you got any eye drops?" Smurf stuck his head round the tent flap and pointed over his shoulder. "Fingers has got Marmite in his eye."

"Fuck sake," Captain James rubbed his forehead.

Molly hopped down off the examination table where she'd been sitting. James felt himself flush slightly at her sudden proximity. She held his gaze for a moment.

"I better go see to the kids," she said, stepping towards her supplies. He nodded, moving out of her way and immediately missing her closeness.

"I'll leave you to it," he said.

"Sir?"

He paused at the entrance to the tent. She gestured to her hands.

"Thanks. And, for listening."

He smiled.

"Any time, Dawesy."


End file.
